Ragnarok Rising: The Crossing (The Ragnarok Rising Saga) (25 page)

“So g
lad to be of service,” I answered, sarcastically.

We hea
ded inside the main cabin. We were left alone and spent the next several hours discussing the Gods, our tattoos and even the
Einherjar.
After some time, we came to the conclusion that we both had been having the same dreams. Both of us were being called to fight against the hordes of the dead.

While we were talking, I saw a bag of ammunition. While he was using the bathroom, I palmed a box of 9mm ammo and slipped it into my cargo pocket.
When I excused myself to use the bathroom, I quickly loaded the magazine and chambered a round. I would only have the one magazine, so I would have to make every shot count.

We broke to eat supper, just as the sun was setting in the west. It turned the lake a molten golden color. It would have been a breathtaking sight had it not been for all of the dead wandering around on the shore. That certainly kept things in perspective.
I couldn’t speak for the King, but it made me remember the danger we were in.

Dinner was more fish and a large pot of beef stew. I could tell it was canned, but I really didn’t care. Real food was better than
MREs, any day. Spec-4 and Elliott were both at the table, but no one was talking very much. Spec-4 wouldn’t look me in the eye and Elliott seemed anxious. I wasn’t certain what the matter was, but I had the feeling that I was going to find out, soon.

It was completely dark by the time we finished our meal. There was enough tension in the air to feel it on your skin. I waited until the serving girls took away the plates before I decided to break the silence and sp
eak up to our “host.” Even I was surprised by the strength of my voice.

“
So, when do we get to leave?” I demanded. “I’m ready to head back. I’m sure that they are, too.”

“Soon,” said the King. “Why the rush?”

“We have other things to worry about right now,” I said, my tone still gruff.

As if by magic, three men appeared from the next boat. They were all armed with our gear and wearing our body armor. The way that they were heading for us, I had no doubt that they weren’t coming for a social call. They quickly moved ac
ross to our boat and fanned out, covering any possible exit that we could make to leave the boat. Well, any except diving into the water.

“I think we’ll be enjoying your company for a bit longer,” said the King, not looking up at his men.

He had a look of feral glee on his face and watched us intently. I didn’t make any sudden movements. I slowly slipped my hand below the table and raised my foot. The goons were on the far side of the table and couldn’t see what I was doing through the tablecloth. Very carefully, I removed the Glock from my boot and held it next to my thigh. I was just waiting for the right opening.

“When
are
you planning on releasing us?” snapped Elliott, rising to his feet. “I thought you were supposed to be a man of your word!”

Everyone was watching Elliott and no one was watching me. I also noticed that none of the goons had their weapons trained on any of us. Despite the weapons and gear, they still lacked any real training.
None of them had any instincts for this, at all. They didn’t even seem to notice that I had gotten to my feet, until I opened fire.

M
y first round hit the first goon in the forehead, dropping him to the deck like a stone. Before anyone could react, I shot the second goon through the left eye. He staggered and fell over beside the King. Goon number three at least tried to bring up his weapon. I shot him twice in the face before he managed to get off a single shot.

I had the pistol leveled right at the King before the last body hit the deck. Unfortunately, I was also staring down the barrel of his pistol. We were at a
standoff. Neither of us was going to flinch first. I could tell that, unlike his men, the King had training. I could see that from the way he held his pistol. He no longer had the bearing of the oafish King. The man that stood transformed before me was a warrior. I could see it in his eyes.

“Looks like we either both put down our guns,” he said, his voice strong and even, “or we join each other in the Halls of the Dead.”

“You first,” I replied, teeth clenched.

“Yeah,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “I don’t think so. What do I look like? An idiot?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” I asked, matching his tone.

“We can talk this all out,” he said, holding up one hand with the palm towards me. “We’re not enemies.”

“You took us captive,” I snapped. “Stole our weapons, tortured my son and forced me to fight my way across that dam. That doesn’t exactly make us friends.”

Spec-4 and Elliott grabbed fallen weapons from the dead goons. In seconds, we were all armed. We all had our weapons up and aimed at the King. I could tell that he realized the situation he was in and slowly lowered his pistol. He sat it on the table and held his hands up in front of him.

“What now?” he asked, not taking his eyes off of me.

“How about we just fucking shoot you and toss you off into the water?” I replied, venom in my voice.

“We were going to let you go,” he said, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to shoot my men.”

“It damned sure didn’t look that way to me,” I replied. “
You just said that you would be enjoying our company for a bit longer. Besides that, if we were free to go then why were your men blocking our exit?”

He didn’t seem to have an answer for that.

“It sure didn’t look like they were bringing us our gear back,” said Spec-4.

“Or showing us to our boat,” added Elliott.

“We’re leaving,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do to stop us, either.”

“Fine,” replied the King.
“Take your gear and leave.”

“Why was it so damned important that your men had our gear?” I asked, lowering my pistol.

“Because our weapons are all shit,” he replied. “If we have a chance to survive at all, it will be better if we had better gear. We were hoping you would lead us to some.”

“No, we won’t,” I replied, tucking the pistol in
the back of my belt. “But if you had asked, we might have
given
you some. I’m not in the habit of leaving people to die.”

“Nothing comes for fr
ee,” he replied, darkly.

“Maybe not,” I said, “but we could have worked something out. How many of you are there?”

“Well, before you shot them,” he said, gesturing at the men on the deck, “there were twenty one of us. Six men, twelve women and two kids. Now, I guess there's only eighteen left.”

Suddenly, I felt like shit for shooting them. I knew that nothing would change it and I couldn’t undo it. However, they were threatening us and refusing to let us leave. So, like it or not, I was completely justified. I was fighting back and trying to free my son and Spec-4. I felt bad for shooting them, but that didn’t mean I trusted the King.

Spec-4 and Elliott lowered their weapons and glanced down at the dead men on the deck. I turned to say something to Elliott as he bent down to examine one of the bodies. Before I could open my mouth, there was a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head just in time to catch the King's huge fist right in my left eye. Whatever I thought about him, the fact was he hit like a jackhammer. I was flying over backwards and onto the deck as the world around me spun. In my haze, I could see him coming for me. The fight was on.

He was on top of me in a flash and hit me twice more before I could react. Each blow felt like I was being hit with a baseball bat. The man was extremely strong and very
fast. In fact, he was faster than I had expected him to be. As his big right arm went back for another blow, I drove my right hand into his ribs, right where his ribcage meets his stomach. I heard him grunt as I not only hit, but twisted my fist to maximize the damage.

With him still straddling me, I drove my fist into his stomach twice more, each time with enough force to hear the air rush out of him. While he was momentarily distracted, I grabbed his belt and yanked him over the top of my head. He went sprawling, but came to his feet as quickly as I did. I half expected Spec-4 to end the fight with a raised weapon, but she seemed content to let us beat each other's brains in. She was probably still pissed off at me from the night before.

He came at me in a wild rush. I knew right away that he was stronger and faster than me, but my edge was in the training. I locked his arm as he went past me and pulled it down, exposing his face. With a massive blow from my left hand, I drove it right into his exposed ear. With a grunt of surprise, he fell into the legs of a chair and they both fell to the deck.

I didn't wait for Spec-4 or Elliott to intervene. I ran forward to kick him before he could untangle himself from the chair. Have you ever heard the old phrase, "Never kick a man when he's
down?" Well, whoever said that was an idiot. If you're in a fight, you fight to win. All that
Marquis of Queensbury
shit is nice if you're in a ring, but when you're in a real fight, the rules go right out the window.

As my foot connected with his ribcage, he grabbed my leg and locked it against his body with both arms. Then he rolled away from me, taking my legs out from under me. I hit my forehead on the table as I went down, and I could feel the blood begin to run down my face. Maybe there was something to that rule, after all.

As I tried to get back to my feet, he was already there, driving a massive fist into the side of my face. I rolled away, knocking table and chairs everywhere as I went. I could see that more guards had arrived. Spec-4 and Elliott were at a standoff with them, neither side wanting to start the shooting. That explained why they were letting us beat the hell out of each other.

The goons couldn't shoot me for fear of getting shot by my people. They couldn't intervene for the same reason. Damn it. I guess we're going to settle this
thing the old schoolyard way. This was going to hurt. The only consolation lay in knowing that he wasn’t going to enjoy it, either. I might not win this fight, but he wasn’t going to be happy about the win. That much I could promise him.

The next thing I knew, he was on me again. We were grappling like wrestlers, each trying to gain the upper hand.
He was stronger than me, but I had skill. Pound for pound, I knew he was the better fighter. If he had the same training I had, this would be a one-sided fight. He'd kick my ass.

We rolled, each vying for the upper hand, when I slid my hand up to his neck. I knew that trying to choke him would take too long and probably wouldn't work all that well. So, I did the next best thing. I jammed my thumb into his mandibular pressure point.
The mandibular was a compliance point, used to subdue an aggressive opponent. While it didn't make him comply, it did make him cry out and forced him away from me. Point for me.

With a moment of breathing room, I shook my head to clear it and launched myself at him, again. We locked up and went over the rail of the boat, landing on one of the makeshift walkways that connected the boats together. The wooden section of a dock was plenty wide enough for us to fight on witho
ut sliding off into the water. Although, it shook like it was in a hurricane as we fought. He forced himself to his feet, but was still bent over at the waist. We were both bleeding from various scratches, cuts and wounds. He turned his head and spat a wad of bloody phlegm into the water.

Blood flowed down my forehead and onto my face and was trickling from the corner of my mouth. As he stood, I could see the gleam in his eyes. The son-of-a-bitch was enjoying this. He started laughing deep and loud, rocking back on his heels.

"You're a hell of a fighter, boy," he said, through the mirth. "I'll give you that. I haven't been in a fight this good in a long, long time. I'm gonna enjoy this!"

"Then you're going to fucking love this
one," I said.

Before he could move, I rushed forward and drove a series of blows into his face and abdomen. I drove him back far enough to make him fall backwards over the railing and onto the deck of a pontoon boat. He quickly got back to his feet and shook his head. I didn't wait for him to recover. I took two running steps, placed my hand on the railing and vaulted over it. Using the momentum, I drove both feet into his chest with enough force to knock him flailing into the back of the boat. He landed on one of the couches and seemed to lose focus.

I sensed that he was on the proverbial ropes, so I rushed forward, eager to finish the fight. This time, I straddled him and jack-hammered several blows into his face, as fast as I could punch. His head rocked back with each blow and I drew my right arm back as far as I could, lining him up for what I hoped would be a finishing blow.

With a bellow of rage, he grabbed me around the waist and stood up. The pontoon boat was open topped or I would have been shoved into the roof. He took two steps forward and
flipped me onto the deck. I recognized the move from television. It was a professional wrestling move called a belly-to-belly suplex. I never thought I'd have one used on me, but they fucking hurt. I felt the air come out of me in a rush.